


I want to ride my bike

by Amarillis39



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco Malfoy In Love, Draco Malfoy learning how to ride a bicycle, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Muggle London, POV Draco Malfoy, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:46:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28661199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amarillis39/pseuds/Amarillis39
Summary: Draco Malfoy is about to learn a new muggle skill. He reminisces on how he got there._Fluffy Dramione one-shot.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 6
Kudos: 59





	I want to ride my bike

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all, welcome to my little fluffy, plotless one-shot.  
> As always, unbetad, written in a heat of a moment.
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy it.

It was a beautiful July day in London. 

Draco had to admit it was, at the very least, weird to be seated on the front porch of this Victorian townhouse in Islington, the neighbourhood was so familiar, yet it all seemed so different. The city felt so much brighter, so much warmer than it would just around the corner where Grimmauld Place, his mother’s childhood home was located. He got familiar with it after the war ended and they both reconciled with their Black heritage as well as the current owner of the house. Potter tried his best, he supposed, to make the Black residence look warmer and homey but centuries upon centuries of dark magic and prejudice were not so easily aired out of the room by changing the wallpaper and opening the windows. It was incredible that just a couple of streets over, the same neighbourhood could look so much different.

He looked around his surroundings, homes of Thornhill Square, with their brown bricks, white windows and porches and red or blue doors as opposed to the oppressing darkness he was used to while growing up in Malfoy Manor. It was bliss. Lucius would have a heart attack should he see him now, so content and openly defying everything both his Ancient and Noble houses stood for by sitting on this very muggle front porch in a sun-soaked London. All this while dressed like a muggle, smoking a muggle cigarette and enjoying the very much muggle part of this neighbourhood. 

As it happened this very porch belonged to his girlfriend’s parents. Yes, girlfriend. What a bumpy ride it was, he thought as he chuckled quietly. They eventually got together after their tumultuous Eight-Year, where they began as reluctant partners when appointed Head Boy and Girl respectively. They outgrew their prejudices, not without a fight or ten, of course. But eventually, one winter evening in their shared Heads Dormitory she graciously decided to forgive him for his past misdeeds after a heartfelt speech that ended with both of them in tears. That night he decided to kiss her, which in turn ended with her giving him an impressive black eye and a door shut in his face. The girl had a mean right hook. He winced at the thought, he should have known better. It’s not like that was the first time too.

It took him another few weeks to get her to talk to him again. He had to admit that jumping into kissing her just after begging for forgiveness wasn’t the smartest move he had made. She bloody made him work for it then.

He had to endure being her friend and friend only while pining helplessly. Malfoys weren’t used to pining, they were used to getting what they wanted. But he decided to for once in his life put his damned pride aside and burn in friendzone hell for months. He had to admit, it humbled him. 

When he finally graduated and was sat snuggled within their carriage on Hogwarts Express with all the friends he spent his time with throughout that year, the odd mix of all his past enemies and old friends alike, he thought all was lost and he was left with just memory of Hermione Granger. For he was convinced she would never want to see him again. Surely she must have just put up with him because of their shared responsibility and living situation. There was no way in hell that a witch like Hermione Granger would want anything to do with the likes of him.

And he couldn’t be more wrong. He must have looked ridiculous when he stood rooted to the ground as she threw her hands around his neck and kissed both his cheeks thanking him for his company and friendship this past year. He stood there, feeling his earn burn in a vicious blush as she was urging him to meet her for a pint every once in a while before they were both due to begin their respective Ministry jobs next month. Well, if he looked shell-shocked it was nothing compared to the two idiots she called friends, he supposed. The memory of The Boy Who Forgot How To Speak as he kept opening and closing his mouth in great imitation of a half-dead fish and his redheaded sidekick clutching his fists at his sides would be forever treasured. It was almost worth getting punched square in the face by Weaselby. What was it with people punching him in the face these days? Bloody barbarians. 

Hermione defended him fiercely and he basked in the angry red blush that covered Weasel’s face and ears, the pulsing vein in his temple, and his fists flexing at his sides as Hermione yelled at him in front of the whole Platform 9 ¾. She was scary when she was angry, he knew that already. In fact, it made him even more attracted to the witch, like that was possible…

Months went by and their regular meetings in a pub or Ministry’s cafeteria became more and more regular occurrence. He was trying to play his cards smart, he was punched enough by members of the Golden-Bloody-Trio to last him a lifetime, after all. He began to notice that she regarded him as more than just a friend but left her to figure it out for herself. She was The Brightest Witch of Their Age, after all, it should take her no time at all.

Well, he was wrong, again. It took Hermione Granger over a year to get in touch with her own emotions and feelings after a few failed attempts at relationships with Quidditch players. She definitely had a type. When one’s love interest is a war heroine with all those expectations toward her, she is bound to push feelings and romance to the back of her mind, he supposed. Let alone the romantic feelings towards an ex-Death Eater, that must have been difficult for her to process. After all, how was she supposed to explain to herself why she might find her childhood bully somewhat attractive.

It was some Ministry get together on a Friday night, sometime in November, which he reluctantly attended after having been blackmailed by Theo who threatened to send Potter a baby picture of chubby little Draco clutching plushie niffler and stuffing it into his mouth. He must have been about two or three and he personally thought he looked like a little angel with his blond curly halo of hair and white onesie. He wasn’t so sure Potter would share his sentiment so he decided to just go with Theo and never find out. And he was lucky to have attended although he refused to thank his moronic friend.

As it happened she imbibed quite a bit that night and everybody who knew her also knew that for all her greatness, Hermione Granger could not hold her drink. It was just about the time she broke up with yet another Quidditch player and he mustered up the courage to ask her why. _“He wasn’t you, that’s all…”_ she slurred then, laid her head on his shoulder and proceeded to fall asleep. Well, Hermione Granger was nothing if not a romantic at heart, he thought with a smirk as she drooled over his sleeve. He still liked to remind her of that moment. Anything to see her blush.

It was a whirlwind after that. He took her to her place then as he wouldn’t trust her to apparate or floo in the state she was in. What he didn’t expect was that drunk Hermione Granger would desperately try to get into his pants all the while undressing herself in front of him. He eventually managed to wrestle the half-naked witch into her bed and honestly considered stunning her but then as soon as her head hit the pillow she was fast asleep, snoring adorably. He stayed on her sofa then, he wanted to make sure she was alright. Also, they were due to have a long conversation, at last.

And the rest, as they say, is history. They started dating, taking it slow at her behest. And then here he was, three years later, having had met her parents last year and having been welcomed with open arms after Hermione managed to eventually recover their memories after the war. He couldn’t believe his luck. At some point, he thought there’s nothing left for him but Azkaban. How wrong he was then. He was now happily working in DMLE and recently had been promoted to senior Auror at only twenty-three along with Potter, whom he eventually reluctantly befriended since the scarred bell end went and started dating Theo of all people. he had a beautiful girlfriend and he couldn’t be happier. 

For the first time, he was truly happy, and he’ll be damned, he could get used to it. He could summon thousands of corporeal Patronuses just to the memory of her smile. 

He let a puff of smoke out of his mouth and lost himself in people-watching. He loved watching muggles go about their daily routines. They were all so damn creative, managing everything without magic. He couldn’t believe he was raised to despise them. After he finally grew up from being the entitled prick he initially was, he realised wizards could learn quite a lot from them. They were incredibly resourceful. Lucius could rot in Azkaban for all Draco cared as he almost took everything from his only son and loving wife. And for what? For a brief acceptance and praise of a madman?

Angry grunt pulled him out of his reverie and he turned to see Hermione struggling to pull something through the back garden gate and onto the street. He approached to find her heaving lovely looking red city bicycle. His eyes widened. 

“Grab the other one” – she huffed pointing at the second bike parked just behind her, - “it’s so nice out, we're going cycling.”

“We’re what?” he must have looked terrified. “I don’t… I’ve never…”

“You’ve never cycled?” Hermione exclaimed feigning surprise as she clutched her proverbial pearls. She tried to hide a smirk but was failing miserably, “I’ll teach you, love. You survived a car ride with my mum and she really is a dreadful driver, you’ll be just fine, honey.” The smile she gave him could have melted the Arctic. He reached for her and enveloped her in his arms, kissing the top of her head. He sometimes couldn’t believe that such a small body could fit so much love, compassion, stubbornness and intelligence. He was constantly left speechless and feeling beyond blessed. He was one lucky man.

A few moments later he was seated, rather uncomfortably on the little leather seat and trying to remain calm, ignoring all those little children cycling around him through the little park in the middle of the square, like it was the easiest thing on the planet. This was definitely not how he imagined today going. 

“Draco, pay attention!” he turned from where he was watching a child no older than himself on the infamous plushie niffler photo zooming around on a three-wheeled bicycle like it was just so normal. He waited expectantly for her instructions, “Now push off the ground and place your feet on the pedals, then keep pressing forward and try to balance the handlebar and go in the straight line, then push the pedals backward to brake,” she looked glorious in the denim shorts and espadrilles, casually propped with one leg on the ground and the other on the pedal, leaning over the handlebar of her red bike. She looked at him expectantly over the rim of her aviator sunglasses and he tried to remember what she’s been saying. It should have been natural, shouldn’t it? Little kids were doing it after all, right? It wasn't his fault that her tanned legs were so goddamned distracting. He almost lost his balance as he imagined what he'll do to her later tonight. 

He shook his head to focus on the task at hand, adjusted his Ray-Bans, braced himself and pushed off the ground and suddenly nothing seemed easy anymore as he flailed the handlebar desperately, trying to stay balanced. He didn’t even manage to put both feet on the pedals and he was already laying in the cool grass. He almost didn’t hear quiet snort that escaped Hermione. Draco made sure to send her an angry look but melted as soon as she kneeled by him and kissed his bruised elbow. He lifted an eyebrow and pointed at his lips.

“It hurts here too, Granger,” he sent her his best Slytherin smirk as she rolled her eyes and leaned to lightly brush his lips with her cherry flavoured ones as just as he tried to pull her closer and deepen the kiss she stood up and held out her hand for him to grab. Groaning, he got up and forced himself to try again. This time, he made it several metres, even managed to pedal forward for a moment there before he lost his balance again. About a half-hour later, he was all bruised and he ached in places he didn’t know he could, after a few close encounters with grass and stone path but also beyond pleased with himself. Even Hermione’s kisses didn’t soothe the pain in his bruised knees and elbows but he already set his mind on the task. He was going to learn this if it was the last thing he did. He flew on a broom regularly, for Salazar’s sake. 

He did eventually manage to cycle the length of the little park without falling even once. The feeling was exhilarating. And Hermione’s praise was just what he craved.

“You’re doing fantastic, love. Try one more time,” she smiled so sweetly that his knees almost buckled and leaned over to kiss him softly, her bike forgotten in the grass beside them. If she thought she will escape after a light smooch again, she couldn’t be more wrong. He pulled her flush against him, forgetting that he was still somewhat dangerously perched on his bike. Sudden movement sent them both reeling back onto the grass with a heavy thud. They lay on the ground in a heap of limbs, wheels and metal, in the afternoon sun-soaked Islington park. Hermione’s sparkling laughter sounded in his ears and he realised this was the sound of happiness. The cool grass beneath them felt incredible as they were enveloped in the afternoon sun. It shone just the right way to reflect perfectly in Hermione’s honey brown hair as she leaned toward him.

He was truly happy. 

He pulled her to him and kissed her deeply, forgetting their surroundings and not caring in the slightest that the handlebar was poking him painfully in the ribs. All that mattered was the most beautiful witch in his arms, her hands in his blonde hair and her tongue caressing his in the deep, tender kiss. 

For her, he could even learn how to ride a bicycle.


End file.
